I Don't Have The Heart
by Corbyjane
Summary: Songfic pairing Aragorn and Eowyn... not romantically, I promise. Just a musing.


I Don't Have The Heart

Author: GypsyElf

Pairing: Aragorn/Éowyn… but not romantically, I assure you.

Rating: G

Summary: My first songfic! I love the James Ingraham song and I'm not the only one that sees it as Aragorn/Éowyn. This is for Lúthien Tinúviel form www.loversofcerinamroth.com, who inspired the whole thing in the forum. (I've taken liberties with the order of the song, since it wouldn't work)

Your face is beaming.   
You say it's cuz you're dreaming   
of how good it's going to be.  


Dinner passed with light conversation—I regaled the Lady Éowyn with slightly exaggerated stories of my friends' valour, and Legolas and Gimli occasionally chimed in with stories of their own. She found their ongoing quarrel over who had killed the most very amusing, and was kept busy looking all around the table as men chimed in with their tale. But I couldn't help but notice that whenever possible, her eyes rested longest on me.

After dinner, she rose, and spoke to me, and the rest of the party: "Lords, you are weary and shall now go to your beds with such ease as can be contrived in haste." I nodded, and thanked her, but she added quickly, "But tomorrow, fairer housing will be found for you."

I stood quickly, and met her eager eyes with my own. "Nay lady," I told her. "Be not troubled for us. If we may lie here tonight, and break our fast tomorrow, it will be enough. For we ride on an errand most urgent, and with the first light of morning we must go."

She thought this over a moment. I wondered what was passing through her mind. "Then it was kindly done, milord," she said at last, beaming, "to ride so many miles out of your way to bring tidings to me, and speak with me."

I grew solemn at the barely controlled passion and glee I saw in her shining eyes. "No man would count such a journey wasted," I told her, seeing her blush, hating myself for what I must say next. "But I could not have come hither to see you if it were not the road which I must take runs through Dunharrow."

Her face grew pale, contrasting sharply with the brilliant scarlet it had been only moments ago. First she tried to pretend I didn't know what I was talking about. "You are astray, milord," she gasped. "Out of Harrowdale no road runs East or South."

She shut her eyes tightly, and I heard the tears in her voice. "I… I suppose you had best come back the way you came."

You say you've been around   
and now you've finally found   
everything you wanted and needed in me.

Lady Éowyn, gaining control of her emotion, opened her eyes again and stared at me. Brown eyes, so different from Arwen's grey ones. Arwen's were clear pools that spoke volumes… and rarely laughed. Lady Éowyn's brown ones only showed their light at times… and I had seen that light only moments ago, when she had thought I'd come only to see her. Her eyes spoke as well, less clearly than Arwen's did, for she had not had centuries of conversations where the only words said were spoken in silence. But I saw in her eyes that she knew I was not astray. I tried to answer her… _I must do this_, I wanted to say. But her eyes only narrowed in confusion… she could not read my thoughts as Arwen could. I would have to say it aloud.

"Nay, milady," I said. "I am not astray, for I walked this land ere you were born to grace it. There is a road out of this valley other than the one I came by, and that is the road I shall take. Tomorrow I shall ride by the paths of the dead."

She recoiled visibly, stiffening and pulling away from me.

"Is it then your errand to seek death?" she asked. "That is all you find on the Paths of the D—on that road, Aragorn. _They_ don't suffer the living to pass."

I set my jaw, feeling Arwen's confidence, even across the distances between us, washing over me. It was as if she had whispered, _"They will suffer you to pass."_

"They may suffer me to pass," I repeated. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "But at the least I will adventure it. No other road will serve."

She reached out as if to touch me, but drew her hand back. "But this is madness!" she cried desperately. "For here are men of renown and prowess, whom you should not lead into the shadows, but should lead to war, where men are needed!"

I tried to stop her, shaking my head. Men that hadn't already been watching us were turning their heads. We were becoming the centre of attention. "Milady—"

She didn't let me finish. "I beg you to remain here with me—to await the coming of my brother Éomer and the King. Aragorn, then all our hearts will be gladdened, and our hope the brighter."

For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine how easy it would be to abandon my horrible quest, and stay with this beautiful woman, and then go with her brother to fight people—real physical beings, that could be killed—not the phantoms I'd come so far to catch.

Then I shook my head. For the sake of Arwen… for the sake of Ada, Lord Elrond… for the sake of the Hobbits and the Shire and all of Middle-Earth, I had to take this road.

I put my hand on her shoulder and looked into her face. She was taller than Arwen—almost as tall as me. It was interesting to have a woman almost on eye-level. The fear I saw in her eyes reflected my own. I wondered why she didn't shove it down, as I had seen her do so many times in the short time I'd known her.

My words were meant to comfort her, but I know they only drove the wound deeper. "It is not madness, lady," he said in a low tone, "for I go on a path appointed. But those who follow me do so of their on free will; and if they wish to remain now and ride with the Rohirrim, they may do so. But I shall take the Paths of the Dead—alone, if need be."

She stared at me, coolly, evenly, and I watched the fear forced down beneath the surface, into a place deep inside her, where only she and I knew about it. Pursing her lips, she walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the room, with my men watching.

I don't have the heart to hurt you—  
that's the last thing I wanna do.  
I don't have the heart to love you—  
not the way you want me to.

Legolas, Gimli and I were to share a booth. I stood a distance away, praying for strength to carry through, before joining them. When I finished, I felt exhausted, as if I'd already fought the battle. As I made my way to the tent, I saw Legolas and the Lady Éowyn standing outside. _Elbereth, help me_, I thought.

When Legolas saw me, he went inside, leaving me alone with her. She opened the conversation with a few words. "Aragorn, she demanded, why will you go on this deadly road?"

"Because I must," I said firmly, forcing away private doubts or fantasies that wanted to overthrow me. "Only this way can I see any hope of doing my part in the war against Sauron. I do not choose paths of peril, lady. Were I to go where my heart dwells, far in the North would I now be wandering in the fair valley of Imladris."

I stopped, feeling the same longing that always threatened when I thought of Arwen. And what it would take before I could hold her in my arms again. Her eyes flicked to the pendant around my neck. She knew. She could see, I felt, the pain in my heart. There was hurt in her eyes, and bitterness, and anger.

But she pushed these away, and put her hand on my arm. I tensed at her touch, and she, sensing this, removed her hand again.

"You are a stern lord," she said coldly, "and resolute. And thus do men win renown."

She paused, and I saw a light begin in her eyes—not the warm Sun I had seen earlier, but a cold one—an icy flame.

"Milord, if you must go, then let me ride in your following."

I stared at her, wide-eyed, feeling my heart begin beating frantically. This woman scared me in more ways than I could say.

"For I am weary of skulking in the hills," she said swiftly, "and wish to face peril and battle."

I saw her mind—_he may not love me. He may never love me. But at the least, I can die with him._

She looked at her feet, a little ashamed after her outburst. I lifted her chin so I could look into her eyes. She met my questioning gaze with an intense emotion that nearly sent me reeling. It would have been so easy to succumb to the desire I saw there. But thinking of Arwen, I pulled away a step, resisting her closeness. "Your duty is with your people," I whispered.

Her hands balled into fists, and for a moment I feared she was going to light into me. But she only hit at the air, and cried, "Too often have I heard of duty! But am I not a shield-maiden of the House of Eorl, and not a dry nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough, Aragorn—waiting for someone to let me have my chance—to let me prove that I am as good as a man! Since my feet falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life, as I will?"

I turned away for a moment, seeing a little boy playing with adopted older brothers and father… an older teen hunting and playing… a youth, pledging his life to an Elven woman… a man, rejected by the only father he'd ever known, forced to leave his home to earn that which he couldn't live without… my whole life, save a few moments at the side of Arwen, had been spent not as _I_ willed, but as others willed. Mother. Ada. Mithrandir.

Little you know, Child of the Rohirrim, of duty.

I looked back at her, tears welling in my eyes. "Few may do that with honour," I said slowly, "but as for you, lady: did you not accept the charge to govern the people until their captain's return? If you hadn't been chosen, some marshal or captain would have been chosen, and he could not ride away from his charge, were he weary or no."

She was not unaware of the change in my demeanour. There was pity in her eyes—pity for the pain she saw I bore. She whispered, "Will I always be chosen, Aragorn? Shall I always be chosen? Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and bed when they return?"

If_ they return, _I almost corrected her, remembering in Gondor, when so many had not returned. And in her own country of Rohan. How many Riders that I knew she envied so had not returned, and would never return?

I tried to ignore it, but the thought still whispered teasingly, _Will_ I_ return?_ "A time may come soon, lady, when none will return. Then there will be need of valour without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that are done in the last defence of your homes. Yet the deeds will not be the less valiant because they are unpraised."

She was angry now—almost a cat, spitting at a dog. She spoke in a biting tone. "And all your words only mean: _you are a woman, and your part is in the house, for the men will need it no more. But when the men have died, in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no longer_."

She drew her sword, and looked at it, shimmering in the night. I saw a glow in her eyes that was not merely reflection off the blade. There was a love in her eyes that nothing could encompass—a love for her people and country and world.

"I am a shield-maiden of the House of Eorl, and not a serving woman. You speak of duty. My duty is to be a Shield-maiden of Eorl, and to take my chance when it comes. I can wield a blade, and I do not fear pain or death. I—" She stopped, unsure.

I saw the terror lurking in her eyes. I bent lower, and wisps of hair that had escaped her braid brushed my forehead. "What do you fear, milady?"

She opened her mouth. Her jaw worked. The terror—an unnamed madness—swelled as she struggled to identify it. Fears and fightings were spinning through her, I knew—and she was trying to find the root—the one that began them all.

You're so trusting and open,  
hoping that love will start.  
But I don't have the heart.  
No, I don't have the heart!

"A cage," she said at last. "To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone—beyond recall or even desire."

I closed my eyes, feeling her fear—understanding all too well the haunting worry she felt. "And yet you counselled me not to adventure on the road that I had chosen because it was perilous?"

She stopped a moment, confused. Then she shrugged it off. "So may one counsel another. I do not bid you flee from peril, but to ride to war, where men are needed! There in battle your sword may win renown and victory. I would not see a thing that is high and excellent and beautiful cast away so needlessly!" From the passion in her eyes, I knew she wasn't only referring to my sword.

"Nor would I." I opened my eyes, and looked at her for a moment—looked at her as I'd longed to do since the day I met her. Her long blond hair was blowing gently around her face. Her brown eyes seemed almost alight with emotion and desperation. The moonlight reflected off her white dress. I wished Arwen could see her. If my Arwen was the elegance and grace of the Elves, this woman of Rohan was the wild passion of the Mark. Arwen was spring—Lady Éowyn was summer. Arwen was night—Lady Éowyn was the blaze of midday. "Therefore I say to you, lady: Stay! You have no errand in the South."

She pulled away from me, angry and disappointed. "Neither have those others that go with thee," she gasped out, fighting tears. "They go only because they love thee, and they would not be parted from thee."

She began to walk away from me. Then she turned back. "And nor would I!" she cried loudly.

I watched her run back towards the house, not looking back, with an ache in my heart. I wanted to call her back. I almost wanted to let myself fall in love with her. This _athelas_ _déor_ of the Rohirrim was a prize beyond reckoning to anyman.

But all I could do was pray for someone deserving and honourable to come her way.

I don't have the heart to hurt you—  
that's the last thing I wanna do!  
But I don't have the heart to love you—  
not the way you want me to.

I didn't sleep well through those few hours between our conversation and the dawn. In dreams, I was torn between two pairs of tearfilled eyes—the brown ones I was forced to turn away, and the grey ones that had watched me as I left Imladris. Had the fates been different, I could have married Éowyn and been just as happy as I knew Arwen and I could be. Had, in my wanderings, I come across her before the betrothal in Cerin Amroth, I could just as easily have been nephew to the King right now.

But I had only met Éowyn—horse joy—days ago, and I had bound myself to Arwen so long ago. There was no turning back, and no personal desire to do so.

But I couldn't forget the pain in her eyes.

Inside I'm dying  
to see you crying.  
How can I make you understand?  
I care about you… so much about you.   
Baby… I'm trying to say this  
as gently as I can!

I roused the company early, before the Sun, in hopes that she wouldn't be awake yet. I knew inside that it was a vain hope, but couldn't help the attempt. At first it seemed I had succeeded. The company was ready, and I and Legolas alone were not in the saddle. As I put my foot in the stirrup, I heard a voice call.

"Stay, milord!" Éowyn was running down the steps of Edoras, carrying a steel goblet in her hand.

Roheryn shifted as she approached me. I put my foot back on the ground and turned to face her.

She extended the cup. "Drink of the cup of farewell, that you may be granted good speed on your journey."

I took it from her, feeling her fingers jump at my touch just as they had fifteen days ago at Edoras. After I had drunk a little, I said, "Farewell, Lady of Rohan! I drink to the fortunes of your House, and of you, and of all your people. Say to your brother: Beyond the shadows, we may yet meet again." I handed the cup back to her, and she deliberately set her lips where mine had been. I waited, uneasily, for her next words.

I had not long to wait before she said piteously, "Aragorn, wilt thou go?"

"I will." I tried to keep my voice even, to keep the pity from showing.

The light in her eyes dimmed, and she asked dully, "Then wilt thou not let me ride with this company, as I have asked?" Her eyes shouted words I could not answer… told things I could not return.

I shook my head. "I will not, milady."

Her cheeks flushed, and she stepped back as if I had struck her. I reached out to her a moment, afraid she would fall. She jerked away from me.

"I will not," I repeated, trying to explain—to make her understand. "For that I could not grant without permission of the King and your brother, and they will not return until tomorrow. But I count now every hour, indeed every minute. Farewell!"

I turned towards Roheryn, turning my back to her, shutting out the sight of her face.

She fell on her knees and grabbed the end of my tunic.

"Aragorn, I beg thee!" Her hood flew back in the sudden wind—tears streamed down her face. She looked up at me defiantly, not bothering to wipe away the tears.

I knelt down before her, and started to tell her all I wished I could do for her—but couldn't—but she didn't let me say a word. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. The tears from her eyes touched my face, and my own tears of pity and anguish mingled with hers.

For a moment, I let myself return her kiss. Just a moment, I allowed myself to dream what we two together could be. But then I jerked myself away from the dream, jerked myself away from her. I shoved her away, roughly—desperately. I had felt my control slipping, and now I had regained it. I stood hastily, where she couldn't touch me. "Nay, lady," I said, and heard the frantic note in my voice.

She opened her mouth to say something, but I knew anything she said would bring me back to that fearful fantasy… that had the potential of becoming reality. I could let myself fall in love with her. It would be so easy to throw away all that I had worked for my whole life. But to keep from doing this, I had to refuse her.

I took her hand and lifted her to her feet. I didn't meet the eyes of any in the company—and I couldn't look at her face. Wordlessly, I turned aside, not allowing myself to think about what I was doing to her.

I mounted, as she stood next to Roheryn, and urged him forward.

In one last desperate attempt, she lunged forward and caught Roheryn's bridle…

"Nay, milady," I said, looking at her with all the passion I could muster. For one desperate moment, I hated her—hated what she was doing to me—hated how she was trying to come between me and Arwen. She dropped her eyes and released the bridle, stepping away, reeling like a drunkard.

Legolas put his hand out as if to catch her. She shrugged it off my shoulders and looked unseeingly about her. He mounted in front of Gimli, and I led the company to the gate. I didn't dare look back, but supposed she was standing there, watching us out of sight.

I don't have the heart to hurt you—  
that's the last thing I wanna do!  
But I don't have the heart to love you:  
not the way you want me to.


End file.
